


Authenticity

by xfandomwritingsx



Category: Constantine (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfandomwritingsx/pseuds/xfandomwritingsx
Summary: You and Constantine need to really sell the whole "lovers" cover story right about now...For Meg's 11k Follower Challenge: The we have to kiss right now or they’ll notice we’re not supposed to be here trope.
Relationships: John Constantine/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83





	Authenticity

**Author's Note:**

> Delving into another fandom here - First Constantine fic. And while I know many people are not fans of the 2005 version, I can't help but love it. It's a different take on him and I quite like it.

“You look uncomfortable,” you say at a volume that only he can hear in the crowded bar. One of his arms is behind you on the armchair’s extra plump armrest and you don’t even have to see it to know that he’s got a near white knuckled grip on the edge, digging his fingers into the cushion. You’re seated on his lap, nestled in close with your legs thrown over the other armrest and between the way his thighs are entirely too tense underneath you and the way his hand practically hovers over your shins like he’s afraid to touch you, it’s very obvious he’s not doing a good job at faking this whole cover story. 

“That’s probably because I _am_ uncomfortable,” he snaps back through gritted teeth. Your eyes scan the dark bar, looking for your target as you throw one arm over the back of his shoulders to pull him in even closer, running your other hand over his chest. 

“We’re supposed to be lovers,” you remind him a little quieter, getting closer to his ear. He flinches and you can tell he’s resisting the instinct to lean away. “You’re so stiff.” You squeeze his shoulder. “And not in the good way,” you tease. He grinds his jaw and if he weren’t so close to blowing your cover, you might have found it funny. 

“This whole thing was your plan,” he says coarsely as his eyes drop down to your skirt that’s slowly riding too far up your thighs every time you shift on him. You wonder if he’s debating on yanking it back down for you. 

He was right though. This was entirely your plan. Information about a demon making some very illegal deals and trades had brought you upstate to a fairly new underground demon bar whose appeal was largely influenced by the sin of lust. Risqué artwork, a red motif that you weren’t entirely sure wasn’t meant to symbolize blood instead of romance, and cozy dark corners all helped embody the hedonism-esque atmosphere. So yes, it made sense to enter as pseudo-lovers to scope the place out. You’d thrown on a wig and some tight clothes that teetered the line between glamorous and grungy. Then you’d forced Constantine out of his suit jacket and tie in order to blend in, hoping neither of you would be recognized. 

But as you had forgone one of those dimly lit corners in favor of an oversized, plush, velvet armchair closer to the middle of the room for better visuals, his hesitancy to even touch you is bound to stand out and draw the wrong kind of attention. The bartender, who already had raised an eyebrow at your apparently uncommon drink order, was watching you both a little too closely for your liking. 

“Next time I’ll remember to ask someone a little less uptight,” you threaten idly as you do another quick scan of the room. You both knew it was a lie. He’s your go-to partner and on the rare occasions where his dumbass will admit he needs help, you’re his too. “Would you just touch me already?” you snap at him sharply, noticing more eyes on you. 

“Most women ask me that question with a much nicer tone.” The words are dry, but the humor is still behind them nonetheless and you catch the glint of a smile on his lips. He lets his hand come down fully and relax on your shin which still isn’t great, but it’s better. Bastard should feel lucky you remembered to shave your legs at the last minute too. “Have you spotted our guy yet?” he asks as if you were the only one looking. 

“Not yet,” you tell him, leaning in to whisper it to him in hopes of looking intimate. His flinch is much less noticeable this time at least. “You need to relax,” you chide. “You’re going to draw the wrong kind of looks.” He gives a humorously gentle squeeze to your leg in response and you can’t help but smile at his timid behavior. 

You let your eyes search the room in the most casual way you can. You lean over to the side to the small table in front of the chair where your drinks reside. Constantine’s hand finally leaves the armrest to sweep over your waist, making sure you don’t topple off his lap when you reach for your beer mug. You take a slow swig of it, eyes peering over the lip of the mug to keep fanning over the room. You put it back down, his fingers sinking into the pocket of your waist as you make the stretch. 

You readjust yourself on his legs and make a show of cuddling up to him. You’re a little impressed that he keeps his hand on you. He slides it up your side, resting it under your arm and shifting his own up your back to allow you to lean onto the armrest like you had been. You can feel the warmth of his forearm, bare from his rolled up sleeves, seeping through your relatively thin shirt and relax into it. When his fingertips brush the side of your breast, you can barely feel it through the absurd amount of padding in your bra, but you figure it’s good for show. 

Another fifteen minutes pass and you continue to unsuccessfully try to get Constantine not to look like he wants to crawl away from you. In that time, you notice the bartender cast suspicious eyes your way a few too many times for your liking. When one of the bouncers just happens to show up at the bar to talk to him, you know you’re about to have a problem. 

“Bail or sell it,” you warn Constantine. He furrows his brows, not following you. “Either we get out right now or we find a way to sell our cover story in a hot damn hurry.” You tap his shoulder with the hand you’ve flung around his neck again to indicate a direction without your eyes. “Or else beefed up half-breed over there’s gonna start something I didn’t bring proper footwear for.” You had not come in tonight looking for a fight and the black heels you’re wearing are a testament to that. You leave the decision in his hands and fully expect to be walking quickly towards the door in a moment’s time. 

“Fuck it,” he whispers harshly and before you have a chance to question what reaction that was meant to imply, the hand at your side tightens, hugging you even closer to his chest and the hand that previously rested on your shin is suddenly at your neck, pulling you into a crashing kiss. 

There’s definitely a slight _mmph_ noise that escapes your mouth and you have to forcibly repress the instinctive surprise from flashing over your face. When your brain catches up with what’s happening, you expect a fairly chaste decoy kiss, but the way his lips are moving against yours and the heated way his fingertips press into the back of your neck prove contrary to that thought. 

You realize quickly that now _you’re_ the one acting oddly, being unusually rigid for a woman being ravished by her supposed lover. So you return the kiss in the same way he’s giving it; hot and heavy. Your mouth opens easily beneath his and your hands are suddenly gripping at his clothes. There’s little actual romance to the kiss, your eyes still opening into slits to jump around the room, making sure it’s working. The only eyes on you now are the intrigued ones, the voyeur eyes. The bartender has gone back to his duties, seemingly satisfied with your display. 

You pull away from Constantine by mere inches, ready to let him go and release him from the ruse. He takes a single, deep but fleeting look at you before the hand on your neck pushes up into your wig. He kisses you again as he pulls roughly, sitting you up and using his other hand to help guide you where he wants you. 

It takes you by surprise, but the way he handles you doesn’t leave you wanting to fight it. The fist twisting in your fake strands of hair makes you regret wearing a wig. He’s making you ache to feel that pleasurable tug at your scalp. Your hands are forced to let go of him and brace yourself on the back of the chair in order to follow the direction of his pull, turning you to face him and slipping his hand between your legs. His fingers press into your inner thigh to push your thighs open over his lap all while keeping his lips up against yours. 

Your eyes are sealed shut this time, getting completely lost in his kiss and his touch. His hand slides around to the back of your thigh, pulling you closer to slot your pelvis over his. The moan that slips through your lips when you feel the bulge pressing up through your panties is completely involuntary and causes a twitch beneath you. Was this why he’s been so hesitant to touch you all night? If only you’d realized before. His mouth opening under you and his tongue pressing against yours ceases your brain from thinking much further. 

You move your hands from the chair back to his face to slide and cup his jaw, allowing yourself to put your full weight onto his lap with a roll of your hips. He releases your wig and both of his hands glide over your ass, giving a small, discreet tug on the hem of your skirt to prevent it from riding up enough to give everyone here an eyeful. His fingers curl over the edge of the fabric and when you feel fingertips brush over the crease underneath your cheeks, you know the maneuver was not without a selfish motive. 

One of your hands starts to melt down from his jaw to his neck and then slinks down further to his chest. And further still to his belly. And further _still_ to his waistband. The rattle of his belt jolts him out of his daze and instantly, his hand shoots back between you to stop your motions as he pulls back from the heated kiss. 

Your surroundings slowly bleed back into your consciousness and you voluntarily, although reluctantly, remove your hand from between you. Your breathing is heavier than you realized and there’s a look in Constantine’s eyes that has you wondering if he’s debating pulling you back down one more time. And damn it all if you didn’t want him to do just that. But the look is fleeting and he clearly decides against it as he gives your waist a push to back you off his lap. 

You make quick adjustments of your clothes and your wig, hoping no one happened to notice anything awry. Getting to your feet, you spin around and quickly down the rest of your drink, a harsh mix of needing alcohol, quenching a sudden thirst, and finding something to do quickly flooding you. 

“I’m going to go… freshen up.” Your voice is dry despite the beer you finished off and you don’t even spare Constantine a look over your shoulder before whisking yourself away to the restroom, skin still tingling and stomach flipping around inside of you so much that you feel the slightest bit dizzy. 

You make it quick; splash a little water on your face and smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes before making your way back out. You don’t make it very far, rounding a corner and nearly running into Constantine’s chest. The freshness that the cool water had given your face is washed away instantly with a blush. 

“Time to go,” he says simply, his face filled with a composure he apparently stole from you, reversing how you had been when you walked into the bar. Your only response is a furrowed brow as you step back, needing to keep some space between your bodies. Had the kiss not worked? Really? It sure as hell worked on _you_. “Our guy hasn’t made himself known, but a whole bunch of people from Midnight’s just walked in so our cover is useless.” 

“Shit,” you hiss, shifting right back into work mode. “Alright, let’s slip out the back door.” You want to be pissed. The whole night is blown and you got nothing from it, wasting money and time. And yet, you’re still too preoccupied to be anything but a little relieved. 

Constantine follows you down the back hall and towards the back exit into an alleyway. He’s silent behind you, but you can practically feel him on your heels and you resist the nervous urge to pull at your skirt; an urge you can’t help but notice you haven’t felt all night until now. When you open the back door, you take a look over your shoulder and catch his eyes lingering on your ass. His eyes flash to yours with a smirk on his lips and you can’t help but laugh as he follows you into the alley. Such a small thing throws your nerves out the door and you fall back into your regular selves. 

Your heels click and splash on the wet pavement as you make your way back to the car parked in a garage around the block. Constantine walks besides you once you reach the sidewalk and keeps a respectable distance between you. As is normal for him, he’s quiet, his eyes watching the street. 

“So,” you break the silence, a little courage creeping into you. “Are we going to talk about that kiss in there?” You watch his face for a reaction, but all you get is a small clench of his jaw and his eyes squinting just a hair. 

“No,” he answers curtly. It wasn’t anything less than you expected so you simply nod. You wait another minute or so, until you’re inside the parking garage before asking your next question. 

“Are you going to do it again?” You watch as his lips press together tightly, something he does when he’s holding something back. For a moment you think maybe he’s not going to answer. Then, with his eyes still purposely looking away from you, he lets the smile come through. 

“Maybe,” he says plainly. 

You chuckle at him as you both start to climb into the car. You don’t need any further conversation than that for the moment, but you do spend the car ride wondering if you can convince him to continue to play lovers when checking into your motel room for the night. For authenticity, obviously. 


End file.
